Fall In Slumber
by Luciddreamer326
Summary: A case from Jane and Maura's past leaves them in a fight for their future and depending on one another for survival.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Fall in Slumber

**Rating:** T for sporadic course language

**Summary:** A case from Jane and Maura's past leaves them in a fight for their future and depending on one another for survival.

**Spoilers:** A vague reference to 2x04. Nothing specific.

**A/N:** Dedicated to my "Rizzles" girls on Twitter. This concept was breifly touched upon the other night in a chat and I decided to map out a story. Shamefully unbeta'd and lovingly appreciative of any reviews you might decide to send to me.

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><p>The chill of the impending weather is in the air. It always in late September when Bostonians brace for the inclement amounts of snow surely to be heading their way. The sidewalks are filled with pedestrians as he wraps the wool of his scarf tighter around his face and stuffs his hands into his pockets.<p>

The neighborhood is busy for 6 pm and aromas of the restaurants from nearby Hanover street waft into his nose. The North End is alive this evening with locals and tourists alike, obscuring him from being picked apart out of a crowd. From being seen by _them_.

The tall one laughs and shoves her counterpart lightly as they walk toward the small gym from the parking garage. The action shows the chisel of her cheeks and the long, dark brown locks of her hair whip back and forth in a cool breeze. Her posture is strong. Does she knows that she walks with what looks like determination in her step? He wonders if she feels less of a whole without the badge and gun at her hip, instead tucked no doubt into the confines of her bag. He seethes as he watches whatever she's said create amusement to flit across her friend's face.

The one with the honeyed hair is more delicate, refined. She's made up of adjectives that would never touch her seemingly opposite-in-every-way friend. Her voice is calmer, silkier than the gravely tone of the detective. He's seen caring in her eyes and knows that on paper, she is a good woman. She donates to charities, offers her time to children's organizations and volunteers at career days at the local schools. She lovely and educated, but she covers her form with excess and expense. She destroys her facade with material money and he hates her for it. Hates that she contradicts what she seems to uphold.

When the force of them combines together, like this on the streets of the city, his anger toward them becomes hard to quell. He feels it boil, not hot like water, but a scorching sting like acid in his veins. _They will pay for their wrongs_, he thinks. _Justice will be served, finally. _

The Slumberer fingers the hypodermic needle in his pocket, rakes his fingers against the glass of the small vials rolling around. He stops at the edge of the building and watches them disappear into the gym.

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><p>Her legs feel like wet noodles and she plops down on the bench in the locker room with a thud. Leaning backward, she rests and looks up at the ceiling. Sweat trickles down her temples and clings to the fabric of her workout shirt. The heat of her body rises and she suddenly has the overwhelming urge to shed every piece of her clothing in order to cool off.<p>

She kicks off her shoes and bends her legs so she can peel the socks from her feet. The act does little to lower her temperature._ In, out, in, out,_ repeats in her head as she tries to steady the quick pace of her breath. All of a sudden, eyes are staring down at her. Around the irises, they are light brown but then fan out to an olive hue of green. Maura tilts her head to the side and says nothing.

"I'm hot," Jane mutters and blows up a puff of air, sending the stray strand of hair from her eyes. She knows she looks as if she has been through an military boot camp while Maura looks untouched and refreshed by their exercise.

"The expelling of sweat from your pores should help cool you core temperature down momentarily," Maura offers. "Or you could always take a cold shower."

"I don't know why the hell I let you talk me in to this. Zumba? Really? Who willingly submits themselves to that type of torture? I felt like a freaking ballet dancer hopping around in there," Jane growls as she sits back up and grabs a towel from the bench.

"Zumba classes have proven to be a stress reliever and provide better mental clarity. It also works muscles that many fail to use on a day to day basis."

"I wanted to do boxing, Maura. Not go to a dance class with you."

"Is it because you haven't punched anyone in the face lately? You do seem to have more pent up aggression..."

"What? No! God," Jane moans and stands up level with Maura. "It's just, my thing, you know? I'm better at it than that." She makes a stabbing motion with her finger toward the door.

Maura laughs and pulls her gym bag from the locker. Even after being stuffed in a confined space, her clean clothing emerges still neatly folded and perfect. Jane glances down at her own with wrinkles already defining the fabric.

"I don't like punching people in the face," Jane mutters.

Maura stops and gives her a comforting look. She's good at this. At sending just a small glance in Jane's direction and making whatever tension that she feels dissipate. As much as she would like to keep up the moody demeanor, she feels a smile tug at her lips.

"Much," she laughs throatily. Maura erupts into a jolly laugh as well as she goes through her bag.

"Oh no! I seem to have misplaced my body wash. It must have fallen out of the side of my bag. I guess I didn't pull the zipper all of the way to," she frowns.

"Uh, you can borrow mine," Jane says as she tosses a towel over her shoulder. Instantly, she can see something wrong in her friend's face. "What?"

"It's a special order blend with components from Hawaii, Peru, Borneo, and the Arabian Peninsula," she frowns. "I'm going to check the car and see if maybe I left it in there."

"Right, because normal ole' body wash won't do the trick. I'll wait for you if I get done first," Jane shrugs and walks to the showers. Maura grabs her bag and car keys but leaves her clothing next to Jane's things. Throwing on her coat, she exits the room and makes her way to the street.

Outside, the air has become colder. For 8pm, the sidewalks are surprisingly busy, most likely due to their close proximity to the culinary attractions of Hanover. She'd let Jane pick the gym, a small but nice addition amidst the hardworking Italian neighborhoods, an aggregation of the people Jane identifies so much with. With the culture and blood that she knows runs through her friend's veins.

As she reaches the small parking garage, she punches the button to release the door locking mechanism on her Toyota Prius. She stuffs the keys into her pocket and is about to reach for the handle when she something slams into her hard, jerking her head back as a hand covers her mouth. The arm around her waist is like stone, the grip hard on her body even through the material of her workout clothes.

She struggles, tries to fight and get closer to the windows of her car in hopes of seeing the figure holding onto her with a vice gripe. Just as the unknown assailant has blindsided her, so does the needle as she feels it break the skin of her neck and the cold substance it contains drain from the opening into her body. The grip on her looses and as she feels herself slide to the ground, she sees a toothy smile reflected back to her. And little else.

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><p>Jane exits the showers, wrapped tightly in the cotton towel. She had taken her time, really lathered her hair and body in an attempt to wash away the sweaty odor of her workout. Now feeling refreshed, she quickly pulls on her clothes and wraps her wet hair in a pony tail on her head. With her dirty clothing in hand, she leaves the shower area and makes her way back to the set of lockers lining the walls and running down the middle of the room.<p>

She stops as she sees Maura's clean clothing sitting beside her bag, still folded and untouched. Glancing back toward the shower area and then to the clothing again, a pang of panic courses through her. _Calm down, Rizzoli_, she says to herself and walks back toward the shower area. Maybe Maura had just forgotten to pick up her clothing before tucking herself under a stream of hot water.

If anyone had entered the room, they would have been utterly perplexed by her odd behavior and probably called her a pervert, trying to sneak a peek. She knows she must look like an idiot, trolling the under side of the shower stalls and examining the sets of feet she passes. Some areas are unoccupied and others are not. She sees toes absent of color and others painted shades of both bright and soft pink, but no red.

Damn.

That means that Maura hadn't come back from the car. Or had she? A thousand scenarios run through Jane's brain, the pessimistic ones kept at bay. Jogging out of the locker room, she tries to tell herself that maybe Maura has become preoccupied elsewhere, chatting to an acquaintance or the desk clerks.

A scan of the gym turns up nothing though. Jane pushes through the doors to enter the street, her palms sweating as she tries to keep a grip on her gun hanging by her hip and thighs. The pace of her steps quickens, as does the beating of her heart. Something isn't right, she knows it. Can feel it in her gut.

Slinking into the parking garage, she rounds concrete pillars slowly and pops from behind each one to find nothing. She can see Maura's car up ahead, the pink athletic bag sitting on the ground.

"Shit, shit, shit," she breathes raggedly. The synapses misfire, she becomes careless and unguarded. Worry for her friend etches into her features and grief seems to have her stricken. It does all but paralyze her as she stares down at the contents spilled onto the ground.

The air chemistry seems to shift behind her and she palms her gun quickly, ready to spin around, the object is jolted hard out of her hand. She screams against the palm clamped tightly over her mouth but the sound comes out muted, incapable of being heard from the nearby street of people. As the needle punctures the muscles of her neck, she has a final, fleeting thought before the world turns black.

_I have royally screwed up._


	2. Taking Point

Title: Fall in Slumber

Rating: T

Chapter 2 of 10

A/N: Whoa, thanks for all the story alerts and reviews! I really appreciate it. I hope that in the coming chapters, I am able to step up the interactions between Jane and Maura, but I had to get the exposition stuff out of the way to really get into the case itself.

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><p>The gray light of the morning casts a dreary shadow of the North End as their cruiser passes the shops and restaurants not yet open to the world at this early morning hour. His large fingers grab to straighten his striped silk tie and he stares out to the passing microcosms of homes and businesses. Barry Frost mans the wheel as they make their way to the parking garage behind the new gym in the district. If the younger man seems nervous, he doesn't show it. His face is steel resolve but Korsak knows he is worried about his partner deep down. He'd just never show it to anyone.<p>

Police vehicles and a CSU van line the street and Frost has to park a decent walk down from the entrance to the facility. The doors slam to the car and echo into the garage. Voices rise like steam and filter into the street from inside. Korsak reaches into the breast pocket of his suit and withdraws his badge, holding it up to the young beat cop standing at the entrance. The man waves him and Frost through.

Up ahead, the blue of the pristine Toyota glints in the overhead lighting. A CSU tech, a blond in her mid thirties, squats beside the car doors and applies dust to the knobs. No doubt looking for prints which Korsak knows is a long shot. The athletic bag sits discarded on the ground and another male tech makes rampant clicks with his Nikon camera, shooting the scene from every angle.

He sees Lieutenant Anna Blake ahead, the newest female to the precinct and head of the Missing Person's Unit. The line between their departments is often blurred, a sad factor that many of her cases cross the barrier and enter into homicide territory. He's pulled a few jobs with her in the last four months of her new assignment but he can't remember a time when Rizzoli has encountered her.

The two women have a similar look, both tall with dark hair and brown eyes. Rizzoli's level of tenacity seems to be more encompassing though, with Blake's tone often skirting the quiet end. They're both young, respectable, and decent cops. The only difference being that Blake has never known the streets of Boston, never developed an affinity for them like he and his crew have. She's green and even looks like a walking picture of the San Francisco, Pacific lifestyle she left behind.

"Hey Lu," he tosses as she walks up beside him and gives him a look. He glances over his shoulder to see Frost hanging back, a look of worry finally entering his eyes. She follows his gaze and shivers, pulling her coat tighter to her body.

"It doesn't become real really until the scene," she sighs, a tired edge in her normally calm voice. She spins to face him fully and shoves her hands into her coat. "Why are you here, Vince? We've turned up no signs of foul play and nothing seems out of place enough to send this into homicide territory yet."

"I want point on this, Lu. I'm sure homicide won't mind loaning us out for a while. Stuff's been on the low end lately and I think Frost and I could offer some help on this."

"Well, I suppose I should find it comforting that people aren't being murdered. As for my department, we are churning in overtime and I don't have the man power to really devote to this like I should, as terrible as that sounds. You know politics, Vince. A missing state senator's child is going to take precedence because it's national news. Boston's own internal affairs get thrown by the wayside in the wake of this media madness."

"So let Frost and I run with this."

"I just worry you might be a bit close to this? I know you care for Rizzoli. You two have been through some dark times together, with the Hoyt murders and all. And I've heard that Frost has developed a rapport with her."

"Are you saying I can't look at this objectively?"

"No, no. I know you can. But what if this does cross the line from a missing person's case and we're too late?" Blake sighs. Her face grows troubled as she looks at him.

"Then I will do my job."

She nods and then huffs out a breath of cold air. "Alright, you and Frost are green lit for this. Keep me in the loop and make sure that if you run across anything, you don't go in with guns blazing. I want this handled with finesse. We already have a national headline. I'd hate to see "Dead cop and medical examiner stun city in double homicide." And for what it's worth, I have heard great things about Rizzoli. And I met Dr. Isles recently. She seems to be a lovely woman. I want them both back, safe."

He watches her walk off but then turn back to him. Her shoulders sag a little bit and he can see the dark circles under her eyes from this different angle.

"I asked the garage manager to get the security recordings from the camera," she points. "Dr. Isles parked her car in an unfortunate space, so it probably won't snag the act as it happened. The street view should provide us with a bit more. I'll have them sent over to you," she says and then turns to walk away again. A hand flicks up in a goodbye wave and he turns his attention back to the scene.

Frost walks up and begins to slide his fingers into the blue latex gloves. Korsak reaches into his other breast pocket and mimics the action. He moves to the pink athletic bag and picks it up. Frost stays immobile though, frozen. He watches the man flinch slightly as another cop walks up with a similar looking bag, only in red with a Boston Red Sox patch adorning the side. _Jane's. _

The man hands in to Frost, Jameson he thinks is his name. Frost doesn't move to open it. Jameson shifts on his feet uncomfortably, no doubt anxious to deliver news to the missing detective about his partner.

"We found this in the locker room. Dr. Isles had a set of clothes beside this. We bagged the clothing as evidence and sent it with CSU. Figured you might want to have a look through this on your own though," Jameson says tightly. He offers a consolatory nod and disappears behind the bodies of workers.

Korsak realigns his attention to the bag below him as he opens the zipper. Pretty standard fare, all things considered. Clothing, toiletries, shoes. He picks up the iPhone from the side pocket and deposits it into a baggie. Pulling phone records will probably be another long shot, but he aims to be thorough.

He hears Frost begin to move behind him and turns around with the contents of the evidence bag still in his hand. "What do you have?"

Frost rakes through and finds Jane's cell. Korsak's heart sinks a bit, realizing that being able to ping their location is now going to be impossible. Next, he pulls her badge from within and just holds it in his palm, like it is an injured bird at first. Then his blue fingers wrap around it tightly and he looks to Korsak with anger in his eyes.

"Her gun. It's missing," he tells him.

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><p>Before she can open her eyes, which feel excruciatingly heavy, she can only breathe in with labored breaths. Particles of dirt lodge into his nasal cavity and she huffs out harshly, feeling her throat constrict and a cough ravage through her wind pipe. Pin pricks of light begin to filter into her eyes, faint light with a haunting solitude to it. She tries to stand up but her head slams into something overhead and she falls to the ground again, cursing loudly. Trying to pick herself back up, palms raking along the dusty floor, her hands settle on a soft form. A groan escapes and she can barely make out the shape in the darkness.<p>

"Maura, is that you?" she chokes out, stifling a cough with the back of her hand. She scoots closer and puts her hands on the form. It's a stupid question really because even in this small, dirty space, she can smell the faint traces of the doctor's perfume. The scent should be long gone from her body but it seems to cling to her, even in the wake of a brutally tiring workout.

The faint light above trickles in, from a loose floor board or crack, she is unsure. She still feels lethargic, drugged, and she absently reaches to her neck as she sees her friend shift to a sitting position. The strands of her hair fall in her face, obscuring Jane's view of any expression she might hold. Her hand goes to her head and she lets out a groan.

"Ouch," she sighs and backpedals into a corner.

"No, Maura, get over here," Jane commands, pulling her back into the light. Her fingers gently weave through Maura's hair, pulling it away from her face. What she sees makes her gasp. "What the hell happened? Did someone hit you?"

A long scrape covers the expanse of the right side of Maura's face. Specks of blood seep out in places and it looks raw and torn. Behind the tearing and redness, she can vaguely make out a purple-blue hue beginning to appear on the skin. She watches as Maura gently touches the wound and flinches. Jane tries to steady her hands on Maura's shoulders but she realizes they are shaking.

"I don't...know," Maura answers honestly. Dejectedly.

"Do you remember anything from back at the gym? Anything at all?" she soothes, going into detective mode. She glances around, trying to get a bearing on where they are, but fails.

"I went to the car and was going to put my bag in the trunk. Then I remember a jolt behind me. After that, I am finding it hard to recall events."

"Yeah, yeah. You went to the car and left me in the showers. I remember looking for you once I finished and didn't see you anywhere. Your clothes were still beside my gym bag and I began to panic. I decided to go to the garage to look for you," Jane recalls, putting together the fuzzy string of events from her pounding brain.

"Oh my God, Jane. Were we...injected with something?" Maura questions, a hand covering her mouth.

The questions chills Jane's blood even more than the temperature in the room. Her hands go back to the sore spot on her neck and she gets as close to the light streaming into the space as she can. Tilting her head, she searches the near darkness for her friend's eyes. It hurts to bend at the angle she is in but the crawl space can't be more than five by ten or so feet. Maura's fingers feel cold against her skin and the delicate touch sends a chill down her body.

"There is a small puncture wound on the flesh with minimal amounts of bruising," Maura tells her and Jane instantly turns the doctor's head to the side, seeing an identical mark. Her eyes fall. "I'm assuming I have it as well."

"What is going on here?" Jane spills out, exasperated and shaken. She sits down, pulling her knees to her chest and covers her face. "Where are we?"

"The laceration to my face must be from hitting the pavement after I was injected. Without a tox panel to examine our blood, it would only be pure speculation on my part as to what we are feeling the effects of," Maura tries to reason as she moves beside Jane, her shoulder brushing against her. "The same would go for knowing where we are."

"We only have time here, Maura. Our lives are on the line if we don't figure this out. So let's run through our options. First thing's first, what drugs cause sleep when injected?"

"It could have been a number of things, Jane. Perhaps flunitrazepam or midazolam . The effects of both would induce a deep enough sleep to where would would have no concept of the events unfolding. They would also create a languid feel upon waking, much like how hospital patients would feel after anesthesia."

"Much like I feel right now," Jane sighs, her head lolling back against the wall. She crosses her arms over her body and shivers. "It's freezing in here. Wherever _here_ is."

She looks around but can see little, only dirt on the ground and large cinder blocks lining the walls. Above them, a heavy door of some sort covers them from the outside world._ A cellar_, she thinks. _Someone has stuffed us in a damn cellar to get rid of us._

"This is bad, isn't it Jane?" Maura whispers beside her.

She has to be strong for her now, she knows it, but she fights back tears and the constricting feeling in her throat. She'd once asked Maura when she had ever known her to not step up. This time has to be no different. Her resolve must stay in tact, no matter how dire the situation seems.

But no words fall from her mouth, the question left to hang on the air and take on a rhetorical form. Maura's head comes to rest on Jane's shoulder and she lets her own face press against the soft curls. She reaches for her hand and twines her arm around her limb. She gives what she hopes is a reassuring squeeze to the fingers in her palm but feels hopelessness start to cloud her heart.


	3. Cling

Title: Fall in Slumber

Rating: T

Chapter 3 of 10

A/N: A huge thanks to Black Tulip for showing me the errors of my ways. I am very much appreciative of your advice!

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><p>The bullpen is quiet for the dark hour, only his desk lamp lighting up the eery silence that encompasses the room. The people of the precinct are home, tucked in safely to their beds with their children, husband and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends. Even Korsak has left for the night, extending a comforting hand to his shoulder without saying a word. A gesture meant to say, <em>We're both going through this<em>. But he feels wholly alone.

He catches himself staring at the picture on his desk, his gaze drifting to it. They're both dressed to the nines in their uniforms, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and a smile on his face. She has a small one on hers as well and her medal stands out on the crisp black of her shirt. In that moment, he was proud of her. Proud to call himself her partner and friend. Especially when in their world, things can often get petty and competitive. He's never felt that way toward her though, always genuinely proud of her accomplishments. Always terribly worried about her well being. Just like now.

He's proud he has never gotten mixed up in the politics of it all, of having a woman for a partner. Sure, he had taken some ribbing about the fact but he never utters a bad word against her. She's fierce, loyal, dedicated. He has always wanted to ask those who ridicule why gender matters so much when she can do everything a male could do, and more. She's a good cop who has his back. That's what matters.

Frost gazes across the hardwood of his work station to hers, rammed up against his. Sadly so empty. So barren. How many days did he take for granted that she was sitting there, running phone records or sending names through the NCIC database? How many times did he tune out her voice running down a list of witnesses to frantically find the tiniest shred of information to break a tough case?

He isn't sure how long he stares, how long he stays planted in his thoughts. Somehow though, the sun peaks over the horizon and he jolts from his reverie when he hears the clank of a coffee cup being sat onto a nearby desk and a computer booting up to begin its daily grind. Night has wound away and day begins again.

Every bone is his body seems to drip with sinewy lethargy and he shakes his head to rid the haze from settling in, like fog rolling in from the bay. Opening an email, he feels his pulse begin to rise. Sitting in the box is a file marked "Case 2631: CSU Print results."

He scans quickly, fiercely, and feels his heart sink. The only prints lifted at the scene were those of Dr. Isles found on the handles of all the doors and on the trunk. The list of things they can do to find their friend and partner are quickly coming to an end.

Korsak enters the precinct doors and takes a seat at Jane's desk. He wants to tell the newly promoted Sargent to move, that where he is resting is only for the woman they are trying desperately to find. He watches as Korsak waves a jump drive in front of him. He can feel himself staring blankly at the man but he doesn't feel up to a guessing game. Luckily, Korsak seems to sense the fact and puts it atop the meager file they have on the kidnapping.

"The files from the security camera. I figured we could take them in the other room and see if we can find something," Korsak offers. "I'm handing them off to you though, since you are the computer whiz."

Frost jumps from his chair at lightening speed, coming to a half walk-half run to the other room. He throws open the door and jams the stick into the USB drive. With each click, he feels the anticipation rise, the desperation to find something that will save his partner and the city's chief medical examiner. To save, above those things, his friends.

"We arrived at the scene some time after eight. Going with the report that Rizzoli and Dr. Isles took the Zumba class at 6:30, we probably need to back track in the footage a couple of hours. Let's start with late afternoon," Frost reasons.

Both he and Korsak turn their attention to the large screens, the time stamp in the top right corner glaring at them. Reminding them that every passing second was one that they might lose the battle. He taps the fast forward key, but nothing too speedy so as to make them miss something important. The images come and go, nothing standing out at all. Faces come and go, turning back occasionally to make sure the alarms on their cars are indeed set and the doors are locked.

He slows the tape to normal speed just before six pm, seeing the dark mane of Rizzoli's hair appear from behind a pillar, gym bag slung over her shoulder and pointing back behind her. He zooms in and sees her arms go out to her sides, facing the direction that she has just come from. She's in workout clothing and tennis shoes with her hair pulled up. He sees her posture droop, a sign of frustration. He knows because he's watched her do it many times when she is exasperated.

A few seconds later, Maura Isles walks up to Rizzoli. She's still in a form fitting dress and heeled shoes, a bag also resting on her shoulder. The two stop and from what it looks like, Jane is giving her friend a hard time. Maura makes a face at the other woman as the bag is pulled from her shoulder. Rizzoli slings it on her empty shoulder, a move that strikes Frost as completely chivalrous. If the word can even be used for Rizzoli.

The two head out of the garage and are lost to the camera's view as they head around the corner. Frost glances at the time stamp in the corner of the screen and freezes it. Korsak leans back in his chair and keeps his gaze transfixed on the screen.

"So they get to the parking garage around 5:42 pm because we have Dr. Isles' car pulling in and then the last image of them has a time stamp of 5:51 as they are walking to the gym," Korsak reviews.

Frost nods and notates the times on a legal pad in front of him. He never mentions to his partner how frustrating it is, to see them both on the camera footage and think of them any other way than as they appear on the screens in front of him: Strong, delicate, fiery, jovial. To him, they feel so real and alive that he cannot possibly entertain any idea of them other than this. Perhaps it is naïve to think because yes, he is a homicide cop and he knows how these things usually end up. With him and Jane standing over a corpse, tortured and beaten. Lost but not forgotten. He feels his throat constrict and instantly clears it to balance himself out.

"Uh, if you want, we can keep moving forward in the video. Maybe see if we can spot something else," Korsak offers, looking toward him with a bit of sympathy etched in his face.

"Yes, of course," Frost sighs and nods.

"Hey, for what it's worth-I know what you are going through. Jane used to be my partner too. The Hoyt cases really did a number on the two of us, even though she suffered the brunt of everything," the older man says.

"Why are you telling me this?" Frost laughs, though mercilessly. A knee jerk reaction.

Korsak stiffens and his eyes grown stern. "Jane's a fighter. Have you ever seen her not capable of having your back? If she can fight off a monster like Hoyt, then I know she can take care of herself and Dr. Isles for as long as it takes."

He stays silent and nods, the truth of Korsak's words hitting him like taking to rounds to the chest. He hadn't wanted to let anyone see his frustration and anger, his grief and pain. He hadn't wanted to bond with Korsak over losing their partner, the same partner. The fact seems like a depressing statistic and even though he knows the words are correct, he still feels like they have both failed her.

His finger taps the keyboard again and the video starts up. Before he even has time to process it, it stealthily passes by.

"Whoa, what the hell was that?" Korsak jumps up from his chair and leans forward.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I saw it too," Frost says standing, and rewinds the footage.

He pauses and looks back up to the screen, a hooded figure turned in profile frozen on the image above. A loose fitting, baggy jacket covers the top portion of the body. Jeans and some sort of combat type of boots cover the lower half. The figure is tall, not bulky but athletic. At his side, one of the figure's hands is balled into a fist. The other rests inside of a pocket.

Frost tries to zoom closer to get a better look at the face but he finds that the father in he tries to go, the grainier the image gets. What is unmistakeable however is the thin smile the rests on the figure's lips, the rest of him a black, indistinguishable shadow.

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><p>The Slumberer sits in his modest two story cabin, a summer and winter getaway that his family used to enjoy when the kids were on break from school. If he sits completely still, he can still hear the laughter ring out in the halls, bouncing off of the walls and depositing in his ears. The old though does nothing but warm his heart that most often than not always feels completely frozen over.<p>

Pictures stay carefully placed on the walls, filled with ghosts of a life he can only remember by looking at the frames most times. To most it would seem odd to keep fragments of a broken, lost life but they give him drive, purpose. They remind him that life was not perfect but still beautiful. Beautiful before _they_ screwed it up.

Outside, a light snow has begun to fall from the heavy, overhanging gray clouds. He stares out into the dim light of the day and sighs, ducking his head to look at the contents scattered across his work station desk. He picks up the vials and throws them into his pocket. Opening a drawer, he withdraws two needles and deposits them to join the glass rolling around in his pocket.

This cannot be fudged or done hurriedly. He has to be careful of his steps because one is a cop and the other is a medical examiner. It's not as if he is dealing with people incapable of fitting together a set of clues. It's his job not to leave any, to leave them floundering for some semblance of an idea as to what they have encountered, endured. He has to be delicate and not show his hand until he's ready.

But now? It's time for some answers.

* * *

><p>Jane lies still beside her, no words falling from her mouth. Maura feels like they should be discussing things but she knows that the silence echoes the own hollow and empty feeling she has inside. She's never been one to see the glass half empty, a self proclaimed optimist by nature despite her grim profession. But as she turns on her side to face Jane, she feels like crying at the hopelessness sitting tight in her chest.<p>

She brings her body in to Jane's, not even worrying about the implications or the reprimands, instead seeking warmth to send the chill out of her shivering bones. Jane stiffens somewhat beside her and Maura wants to laugh at the predictability of it all, but can find it nowhere in her to release it out into the space they are in. _Say something_, she thinks. _Say something to release the tension._

"How much time do you think has passed?" she whispers against her friend's ice cold skin. She drapes her hand across Jane's lithe form and pulls her more tightly into her body. "I'm trying to get as close as possible to generate enough body warmth so we don't freeze to death."

"I was thinking how unfortunate it would be that you were making a move on me in a place like this," Jane huffs out with a coarse laugh.

Maura feels herself let go and do the same, looking up at Jane's face in the gray-black light. She feels Jane loosen up and an arm snake behind her head, the other bringing her into a tight hug. _We're in this position clinging to one another's life source, to the heat_, she tries to reason to herself. But she doesn't want this to hang between them and come out in an awkward talk later.

_Later._

She lets out a chuff, scolding herself for being presumptuous. The statistics are against them if she really thinks about it. Most victims of abduction are never returned. The sudden image of Frost and Korsak finding her body clinging to Jane's is enough to recall the sadness to her.

"Two days? Maybe more," Jane finally answers. "I don't know. I lost count. And I left my watch in my workout bag."

"As did I," Maura sighs.

Beneath her, Jane's shifts as her stomach rumbles. Her arms tighten their hold on her and she lets out a growl.

"God, I'm hungry!" she says angrily.

"Ghandi lasted 21 days without food, only taking sips of water. Another woman lasted eight days buried beneath the rubble of an earthquake in Iran," Maura ticks off, spouting facts like she has always been good at. The act is somewhat calming and comforting, helping her to forget her own worries.

"Are you trying to make me feel better? Because it's not working," Jane sighs with a head shake.

"I could always talk about how delicious the orrechiette is at Lucca," she teases. Jane moans beside her.

"Okay, I admit that place was a little froufrou for me but their pasta is to die for," she smiles, but then stops herself as if just realizing their situation.

"A healthy human can last four weeks without food and eight to fourteen days without water," Maura chimes in, eager to rid the small space of awkwardness again. She knows Jane is beating herself up over the last comment, but she wishes she wouldn't.

"Still not making me feel any better, Maura."

The two of them drift into a silence again. Maura's thoughts run rampant, over and over the events of what has happened to them. Of the meal she has just mentioned to Jane. Of how much she wants to assure her friend that they will make it through this.

"We have to be missing something about this whole situation," Jane lets out suddenly. "Knocking us out with drugs and stuffing us in a hole doesn't say random 'grab and go' to me. This had to be premeditated. Someone knew we would be at that gym when we were."

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," she feels herself saying, not really knowing what it means.

"What did you just say?" Jane questions, her grip loosening around Maura and sitting up a little against the wall. Maura wants to tell her to not let go, but she feels her own confusion stirring.

"I think that's what he said to me before he injected me. 'Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," Maura says again, shaking her head.

Jane holds her worried gaze, brown eyes looking scared and overwhelmed.

"Jesus, Maura. What does that mean? What have we dropped the ball on?"


End file.
